


Too Old For Those Sweet Songs, Too Young For Rock And Roll

by Anon1Adult



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Season 12-ish, Season/Series 12, Slow Burn, Wincest Writing Challenge, late season wincest, not unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon1Adult/pseuds/Anon1Adult
Summary: Dean had been forced to read Flowers in the Attic for a school assignment and it was far from a how-to guide.He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but seducing Sam was turning out to be a lot harder than the books had led him to believe.





	Too Old For Those Sweet Songs, Too Young For Rock And Roll

**Author's Note:**

> I'm 29 days late for posting to this challenge and it needs one more Grammarly/Beta look over, but I will do that another day. (Ah, the beauty of fanfiction)
> 
> 12/5/2018 Update:   
> After a re-read, I've decided this story needs a beta. Anyone interested?  
> (I am willing to compensate in the form of ficlet/fic/word count of your choice. My profile contains my contact details.)

It took Dean years to come to terms with the fact what he felt for Sam went deeper than brotherly affection. And it took him even longer to realize whatever it was between them couldn't be summed up by simply calling it "love". 

He loves his little brother the same way the universe is vast. 

It is a horrible understatement and doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of explanation.

There were countless times over the years Dean could have told Sam how he felt. But each time the moment was right, that his secret could rise from the depths of his chest, it always burned like bile in the back of his throat and he choked it down.

He knew Sam was in the same boat. Or at least Sam thought of him in a similar way.  
He wasn't blind. He'd seen the way Sam looked at him when he had his guard down. The way his eyes would linger a little longer than strictly necessary as they moved over Dean's face. The way his tongue would dance behind his teeth before flicking over his lower lip, glistening the skin.

Dean had convinced himself to be content with always having Sam at arm’s length and never closer. Because Sam being steadfast at his side was worth more to Dean than being able to call Sam his; In Soul, in Mind, and in Body. 

He was content having Sam hum along to the radio under his breath as they sped across the nation. Content with having Sam at his six as they walked into the unknown. Content only watching as Sam stumbling into the kitchen for his morning coffee, his hair fluffed up like a lion's mane. 

Dean had resigned to being everything else Sam would ever need.  
He was Sam's brother. His parent. His guardian. His confidant. And with varying degrees of success, Sam’s voice of reason. 

They were brothers, and it seemed lately the world was out to shove that annoying fact so hard into their face Dean couldn't look anywhere but at it. 

Even though he'd told himself he would never act on his feelings, it didn't stop him from imagining what it would be like to be with Sam. To finally know what Sam's lips felt like pressed against his. To know if the beauty mark on Sam's jaw tasted different under his tongue. He wanted to run his fingers across the scars on Sam's body to know if they were hollow like his own, or if they were as smooth as they looked.

Dean tried not to look too much into how his fantasies were never overtly sexual. Sure, he could imagine having sex with Sam -living in each other's pockets never allowed for a lot of privacy- but his want of intimacy with Sam was more than a onetime roll in the hay. And Dean was always careful to keep himself away from toeing the line of lover. The casual touches to Sam's shoulder, to his arms, and the rare occasions after a hard hunt Sam would allow him to pet his hair. 

And all of it was enough.

It was. 

Until the day Dean woke up and realized it wasn't.

Laying on his side and looking at his meticulously decorated wall of weapons, Dean concluded that having Sam at arm's length wasn't what he truly wanted. 

It was as if everything he'd denied himself over the years came to a head and he needed to _do_ something about it. 

Rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, Dean figured walking up and planting one on him was a little too straightforward. He'd have to be more tactical. Narrowing his eyes at the crack on the ceiling, Dean realized he’d have to... _seduce_ his brother. 

If Sam felt the same way, he should be able to read what Dean was laying down and reciprocate.

With the old saying "way to a man's heart is through his stomach" firmly in mind, Dean kicked off the covers, grabbed his robe, and set about making a big breakfast of all of Sam's favorites. He would even go so far as to make the turkey bacon in a separate pan so Sam couldn't complain Dean was "saturating everything in bacon taste".

\- -

The smell of cooked food drew Sam into the kitchen. He thought he’d heard Dean banging pans around when he’d come back from his run, but the need for a shower overrode his initial curiosity. 

"Smells amazing Dean." Sam informed him as he poured a cup of coffee. 

The curl of a smile at Dean’s mouth took the sting out of his patronizing answer, “It’s breakfast food.”

Sam rolled his eyes and came to stand behind Dean at the stove, looking over the various pans across the burners. "Did you make vegetable omelets?"

"Yep," Dean chirped, snatching the dish towel from his shoulder and opened the oven, pulling out a plate of toasted bread slices, "and buttered wheat bread."

Sam took a slice of bread and bit into it, the perfectly toasted bread and melted butter had him moaning in appreciation. 

Dean set the bread to the side and flipped all the burners off, nodding his head towards the cupboard, "Grab a plate."

Sam set down his coffee, so he didn't have to give up the bread, and grabbed a plate from the cupboard. "What's the occasion?" Sam asked as he took another bite of his toast.

The question had Dean tightening his grip on the spatula before sliding the omelet onto Sam's plate. Only years of watching Dean gave away his hesitation.

"Do I need one?" Dean countered, adding a pile of bacon onto Sam's plate. 

Sam watched Dean for a long moment as he added hash browns to Sam's plate. Dean looked well rested. The faded fabric of the robe always made the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced when he wasn’t getting enough sleep. Neither of them had been hurt on their last hunt so Dean’s “we’re alive - let’s eat” mentality shouldn’t have been triggered. There was a current lull of big bad monster activity so Dean hadn't made any deals, demonic or otherwise. 

Dean turned towards him with an expectant hitch of his eyebrow. 

"No." Sam finally answered. Making a mental note to keep an eye on Dean for the next few days. 

"Then enjoy your turkey bacon." Dean said handing him a warm plate of all his favorites. 

Sam took the plate and his cup of coffee to the kitchen table, eagerly cutting into the perfectly cooked omelet. Dean had a knack for being good at anything he put his mind to and his omelets were no exception. 

Ducking his head to moan around the sautéed red pepper in his omelet, Sam got out, “This tastes awesome.”

“Good.” Dean grinned at him as he set his own plate and coffee on the table, their knees bumping under the table had Sam immediately arranged himself so their legs rested against each other. 

The next bite was of the bacon, crisped firm just the way he liked it. 

Sam nudged at Dean's knee under the table, "Is there seriously no occasion for this?”

Dean gave him a pointed look and cut into his own omelet. "Shut up and eat."

Biting into another piece of toast, Sam obeyed. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. Dean never could keep anything from him for long.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

Dean rhythmically tapped his thumb on the side of his laptop as he weighed the pros and cons of outright telling Sam what he was doing. 

Pros:  
1) He wouldn't have to feel like he was playing games with Sam.  
2) They could start to rebuild the way they interact with each other - which means Dean would finally be able to touch Sam as he'd always wanted.  
3) Sam would stop looking at him like he'd grown a second head.  
Cons:  
1) He might be wrong about Sam's feelings matching his -however unlikely, but it was still possible- and it would be one more thing they would have to overcome.

Dean felt the breakfast wooing had been marginally successful for a first try. He tapped out the tune of 'House of the Rising Sun' as he tried to think of what his next move was going to be.

Usually, when he flirted there was an act to it, but that was out of the question because Sam would see right through it. 

Sure, the cheesy pickup lines still made Sam smile and roll his eyes, but those were all too light-hearted for what Dean wanted to accomplish. This seduction needed to establish Dean wanted more than just a roll in the hay. That and using his best pickup lines on Sam would be showing too much of his hand. 

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Charlie echoed in his mind, "Knowledge is the most formidable weapon to conquer anything."

Dean doubted romancing his brother was what she had in mind when she said it, but it didn't make it any less accurate. 

Sucking up his pride, Dean clicked open the search browser. This called for in-depth research. 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

Armed with several methods to "increase intimacy," Dean set about seriously attempting to woo Sam.

Knowing Sam's suspicion, Dean had to bide his time and pace out each method. Nothing killed a mood faster than breaking out the silver for shifter testing. 

Without having to look for it, the first opportunity came -as most things in their life- while they were on a hunt. They’d been on the road for two weeks now. Leisurely driving through almost forgotten highways and back roads while keeping an eye on the papers for anything weird. 

85 acres of dead crops wasn’t anything substantial, but it was enough to ping their radar. Sam was looking into the history of the land and Dean was sorting laundry.

The speed at which Sam found the details they needed was impressive, but it was the way he’d figured out they were looking at ghost activity was truly awe inspiriting. 

They’d gone in as potential farm hands for the initial round of interviews and Sam had immediately started asking questions about the flowers planted around the main house. Sure, Dean could recognize the real heavy-duty magic herbs, but Sam had recognized a plant apparently only native to Scotland. 

The flowers had apparently been planted at the original farm owner’s grave site, but over the years they started appearing on the property. Some six miles from the burial site. Sam reasoned the flowers were somehow tethered to the spirit as they were the only plant on the property that had been unaffected by whatever had killed 85 acres of otherwise healthy crop. 

Sam’s in-depth research had revealed the farm had been up for a government grant, but it had been revoked at the last minute. The lack of funding forced the farm to sell, only to be bought by a corporation that had started making big changes the day they stepped in.

A change like that was textbook ghost-motive and it assured them they were on the right track for finding bones to burn. 

Hours later and Dean would still catch himself smiling at how smart his little brother was.

\- -

Sam was winding down his research; he just had to double check the burial place against the ancient obituary. Dean had been making himself useful around the room while Sam had been busy. He had cleaned the shotguns and divided the salt rounds between the two of them. He'd since moved on to laundry, taking Sam's clothes and habitually running them through the smell test before tossing them into the proper pile. 

Sam doubted Dean recognized how odd it truly was to _smell Sam's clothes_ , but he'd been doing it for _years_ so far be it for Sam to stop him now.

"Buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery 1861." Sam announced as he dug through his papers to pull out a local map of the small community. 

"I'm proud of how well you took to learning how to research," Dean said, not looking up from sorting the clothes.

Sam didn't expect an answer from Dean, so it took him a moment to parse through what Dean had said and put it into context. When he did, he jerked his head up from the map in confusion, "What?"

Dean was untangling one of Sam's undershirts from his tee-shirt, putting them into the proper color pile, the casualness made Sam second guess Dean had spoken at all. 

He proved Sam not crazy when he continued, "You know, the way you can hear something once and remember it five years from now. It's cool how smart you are."

Sam abandoned his laptop and map to give Dean his undivided attention. This was another notch in the 'Something is going on with Dean' belt. "Are you sick and didn't tell me?" Sam demanded. 

"What? No." Dean snapped and ducked his head, busying himself by shoving their dirty clothes into the 'to wash' bag.

Sam noticed the back of Dean's neck turning red as he purposefully kept his head down and his back to Sam.

"No really," Sam insisted, "what is going on with you?"

"Nothing." Dean answered finally turning to face Sam. He had the faintest dusting of a blush across his cheeks, "Do you have anything else you want washed?" 

They held eye contact long enough for Sam to see he wasn't going to get a straight answer no matter how hard he pushed. With one more appraising sweep over Dean's face, Sam waved him off, "No, that's it."

"I'll be back in a few hours," Dean said as he gathered the dirty clothes bag. He patted his pockets that jingled with quarters and the room key, "Don't burn the place down."

Sam leveled him with an unimpressed look and a flat, "I'll try to control myself."

"You do that Sammy, my boy." Dean called as he shut the door.

Unsatisfied with how little information he'd been able to glean from Dean, Sam turned his attention to his laptop and quickly searched through the history.

While Dean had gotten better about clearing his browsing history, he hadn't gotten better at hiding the fact he had deleted his search history. It only went back three days. 

A quick hunt through the favorited pages, Sam found a bookmarked item that fit the time frame.

The link was titled " '67 Engine Block " but the URL was a link to a lifestyle magazine. An article that offered tips on "how to increase intimacy with your spouse".

Sam frowned at the screen trying to figure out why Dean would be looking at this. Let alone be ashamed enough to go to such lengths to hide it.

Sam skimmed through the article and still didn't have an answer. It was weird, yeah, but also very unlike Dean to have to research emotions. They'd both learned early on how to read people -if only to better con them. Dean didn't often have the patience for it, but he really was good at interpreting emotions. 

Rereading the article, Sam decided "Initiating Intimacy" was out of his usual wheelhouse but if Dean was looking into it, it would help to know where he was coming from. 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

Sam's reaction to Dean's honest compliment made him reassess how subtle he could be as he worked through the list he'd found. The whole thing had made Sam question if he was sick. And because Dean hadn't fessed up, Sam had been giving him the side eye for days. 

Without looking for it, the next opportunity to put the moves on Sam came a week later. In another nameless motel room after a particularly nasty job of clearing out of a werewolf pack. 

Dean hated when the monsters took on the mentality of "safety in numbers." He got off easy with claw mark to his bicep and a sizable bruise on his thigh that was more purple by the time he got out of the shower. Sam had been thrown through a wall. He kept saying he wasn't concussed, but Dean knew him to lie about it before. 

The motel room air was cold against Dean's freshly washed skin. The TV was on mute, but the screen flashed across Sam's naked back as he lay face down in his boxers. His feet were resting on his pillow and his head was pillowed over his crossed arms.

Dean got as far as slipping on his boxers before he sat down at the end of his own bed, tired of being on his feet.

Glancing over at Sam, Dean noticed his still wet hair dripped across his face and throat. There was the shadow of a bruise on the left side of Sam's back, the mark standing out against his skin as various colors from the TV splashed over it. 

The low flickering lights made the dark circles under Sam's eyes look more pronounced. It took Dean a moment to realize Sam was staring back at him, both of them watching the other by the low light of the TV. 

"You put the honey mix on that?" Sam muttered, gestured to the discoloring of Dean's thigh with a tilt of his head. 

"Will." Dean answered before giving a tired but meaningful glance at Sam's bruise, "Then you?" 

Sam nodded, and Dean got up to snag their honey-based lavender scented salve from the med kit. He applied the healing balm to his thigh and the now sterilized marks on his arm before it occurred to him what else he could do with it.

\- -

Sam knew he should sit up and get ready to put the salve on his own tender side, but he was too exhausted to move yet. He would when Dean finished. Head pillowed on his arms; Sam listened to the quiet sound of Dean rubbing the old remedy into his skin. It was oddly hypnotic.

So mesmerizing in fact, Sam woke up to Dean settling himself over Sam's thighs. It spoke to how tired he was that he didn't order Dean off immediately. Instead, he turned his head until he could properly raise an eyebrow over his shoulder. They weren't kids anymore, and Sam was even less willing to wrestle Dean after a hunt now that he was when they were younger. 

Dean flashed Sam the jar in his hand, as way of explanation. "You need it too." Sam moved to get up and do just that, but a warm hand on the center of his back stopped him. "Just let me okay?" Dean soothed.

Sam returning his head to his arm pillow, he was too tired to argue. If Dean wanted to play nurse, Sam wasn't going to stop him. 

He couldn't hold in the sigh of approval as Dean started spreading the salve over his shoulders. Warming it with his hands as he applied the healing mixture to Sam's back. Before long, the room smelled like the rich lavender and honey. 

Sam was starting to drift back to sleep when Dean changed tactics and dug his thumbs into the meat of Sam's shoulders in a rough massage. With a surprised and unchecked moan, Sam uncurled his arms and laid them at his side to give Dean better access to kneed the muscle. 

Burring his face into the scratchy bed top, a sound not unlike a purr rumbled from his chest as he exhaled and relaxed further. 

"You must have flown three yards," Dean said as he worked down Sam's spine. 

"Dog gave you a dead leg," Sam grumbled back.

In retaliation, Dean renewed his efforts on Sam's back until Sam gave another pleased sigh. 

"At least I stayed on my feet," Dean muttered, a smile in his voice that took the sting out of it. 

Sam hummed back "Lucky" and fell silent except for the occasional groan of approval when Dean would start to work a stubborn knot. 

Dean knelt over Sam's back until it felt like every knot had been massaged out. He had rubbed down each of Sam's arms until he reached his fingertips. Kneading the sore muscles of Sam's legs as he worked down to his feet. The moan Sam let out when Dean dug his knuckle into the arc of his foot was, to put it mildly, pornographic.

The TV had long flipped over to infomercials and Sam's hair had dried, but he didn't want Dean to stop. Dean hadn't done something like this since Sam's growth spurt days so when he shifted his weight to move off the bed, Sam's hand shot out and halted him with a hand on his unbruised thigh.  
Flexing his fingers over the light hair of Dean's thigh, he fought to find his voice. He didn't want Dean to move away. He wanted Dean to lay down with him as they used to after Dean's touch had worked out his growing pains. Sam wanted to fall asleep breathing in the scent of lavender and Dean's bar soap. 

Sam's prolonged silence had Dean brushing those callused hands down Sam's forearm, fingers encircling Sam's wrist and moving his hand off his leg so he could stand.

Watching him pad silently across the room, Sam turned his head away as Dean tucked the jar into their med kit. He heard the mini fridge open and close, then the plastic crinkle of a water bottle.

The bed shifted as Dean knelt on the opposite side of the bed. He nudged Sam's shoulder with a soft, "Sit up."

Gathering his arms under him, Sam sat up on his knees. Dean offered him the opened water bottle with a soft command of, "Drink."

Taking the water bottle, Sam drank half of it in one pull before pausing to take a deep breath. 

"You're not a camel, slow down." Dean chastised. 

Sam turned to give him a dry look and he realized Dean was pulling back the covers of Sam's bed. "Did- did you want me to-" Sam gave a hapless gesture towards Dean that he hoped conveyed his silent question; "Did you want a back rub too"?

Dean flopped onto the pillow and casually extended his arm in invitation, "Nah, it's okay Sammy. Just get some sleep. You can pay me back later."

Trying to keep his enthusiasm contained, Sam set the water bottle on the nightstand and turned off the TV, plunging the room into darkness before he moved into the space against Dean's side. 

As Dean's arm settled around him, and Sam couldn't stop himself from taking a deep breath. The familiar smell of the off-brand soap and Dean's own scent felt like coming home. Like taking a cleansing breath after too long.

Sam threw a leg over Dean's thigh and laid his head on Dean's chest, tucking himself under his chin, effectively pinning his brother to the bed.

Lazy fingers trailed up Sam's back before sinking into his hair, Dean's nails a soothing scratch against his scalp. He fell asleep with Dean's steady heartbeat under his ear. 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

The next tip on the website Dean found was to "do something together." 

Because they were always together, Dean figured they'd do something together that Sam didn't often get the chance to do; use his knives without reservation. A chupacabra case in the Southwest was the perfect opportunity to "exercise Sammy's slasher flick muscles."  
Sam was a good shot, but he did love his knives something fierce. 

"The throwing stars are small enough you can pack as many as you can conceal," Dean argued as he laced the machete through his belt loops. 

"They aren't practical." Sam dismissed as he flicked his wrist to resettle the karambit against the palm of his hand.

Dean, being the older, wiser brother, muttered back, "You're not practical" as he notched his belt. 

Sam lowered his arms and gave Dean a patronizing look, "Despite the fact in most states police will overlook a handgun on a person, it'll be a little harder to explain why I have 50 ninja throwing stars." 

"Well if you _concealed them_ ," Dean opened the inside of his jacket and gestured to the inner seam.

Sam continued as if he hadn't heard him, "Not to mention if the police start finding bodies with throwing knife wounds they set the FBI on a trail straight to us."

Dean fixed his clothes and closed the trunk, "Fine, you made your point." He eyed the curved dagger at Sam's hip and the twin knives in his hand before looking up at Sam's face. Sam was watching him; the evening sun made the starburst of his hazel eyes more otherworldly.

It made him excited to get this den cleared so they'd have more time for what he had planned after the hunt. Forcing himself to look away, Dean checked the gun in the small of his back, asking "You ready to go kill these fugly little buggers?" 

From the corner of his eye, he watched Sam give another spin of his knife, "Lead the way."

\- -

"I didn't think it would be this dark by the time we finished," Sam said as they came up behind the Impala. 

Dean looked up at the night sky, with a thoughtful pull of his lips. "We had to have hit more than three dens."

"Warm spring doesn't do this place any favors." Sam agreed.

Dean popped the trunk and pulled out one of the gallon waters he'd filled for cleaning their weapons and hands. They traded off pouring the water over the other's hands until the knives were clean of blood.

"Brought celebratory drinks." Dean grinned once they had everything rinsed. He produced a pack of wipes, ripping them open and offering one to Sam. 

Sam arched an eyebrow at the wipes. A simple wipe wasn't as clean as Dean liked to get after a kill that was so- hands on. And to prove Sam's point, Dean ended up using three wipes until he deemed his hands "clean enough" and ducked into the back seat to pull out the cooler. 

"Come on." Dean said as he motioned towards the front of the car with a tilt of his head. 

Shoving the used wipe into his jacket pocket, Sam joined him in front of the car where Dean handed him a beer bottle. Sam blinked in surprise at the label; this was his favorite pilsner. It was more expensive than Sam typically liked to buy for their motel drinking nights, but he occasionally splurged when he won big at a game of pool. 

In fact, it was so rare for Sam to purchase this type of beer he couldn't remember the last time he'd had it. Let alone when Dean would have seen him drinking it. Rare like Dean fixing him turkey bacon with veggie omelets and giving him a back rub. Sam still felt a little warm when he thought about it.

"That's the right one, yeah?" Dean asked. He was holding the back of his pocket knife against the lid of his beer. Not opening it, just….waiting.

What was Dean up to? Sam schooled his expression and dropped his eyes back to the label, "Yeah, this is the good stuff."

Popping the lid on his beer, Dean exchanged his now open bottle for Sam's unopened one. "Good. You have a few hours?" Dean asked as he eased himself onto the hood of the car.

Sam scoffed a chuckle, "I think I can manage that."

Dean grinned up at him, nudging his arm as they settled hip to hip. The never-ending Southwest sky stretching out overhead.

Taking a sip of his beer, Sam sighed in appreciation and settled back against the Impala, more of his side pressing against Dean's. It was the perfect night for this. 

Sam had thought it was weird when Dean suggested the case because they hadn't chased down chupacabras in _years_. 

They had been a little too consumed with saving the world to clean out an animal that was just as likely to attack and devour its entire den than it was to get after a goat a few times a year.

But as Dean made sure, twice, that Sam had his favorite synth, Sam understood Dean had picked this hunt _for him_. Which meant Dean understood the knives soothed something primal in Sam. A lot of what they hunted was fast enough to evade a blade making the gun a necessity, but using his knives brought an extra bit of satisfaction because he had done his duty with his own hands. 

Sam watched Dean from the corner of his eye. It brought a smile to his face to still see that Dean was a good provider. With nourishment and shelter and all that, yes, but with emotional care as well. 

And if Dean was trying to care for him emotionally then something was _definitely_ up.

Dean’s arm came up suddenly, his non-beer hand pointing into the sky, "Shooting star!" 

With Dean's head tilted up and eyes closed, Sam's chest swelled with love and affection as Dean's lips twitched, mouthing the words to the silent wish.

When those bright eyes opened and turned to look at him, Sam realized he was still staring. "Thank you, Dean." He said holding up his bottle for Dean to tap against.

Dean obliged with a clink of their glasses and a "Welcome Sammy." 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

_eggs fine. 1/2 gallon milk?_

Sam sighed at the text. How hard was it to type out a full sentence? He supposed he should be grateful Dean hadn't taken to writing text via emoji. 

_I will. How much powered creamer do we still have?_ Dean sent back a picture of the container and Sam mentally added it to the list of groceries.  
_Anything else?_

When a text didn't immediately come back, Sam assumed Dean had distracted himself with reorganizing the kitchen. Again.  
So when the next text came in, "surprised" didn't even begin to cover it.

_U know I love U?_

Sam felt his heart leap into his throat and lodge there. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. 

Dean didn't talk like that. Even when he was _dying_ he didn't talk like that. 

Sam mentally tallied how long he'd been gone. 20 minutes wasn't long enough for any monster to break into the bunker and steal Dean's phone. They'd recently re-warded for demons after Crowley's latest visit so he could rule out demons. 

But it had to be something. Fighting down his panic, Sam responded with shaky fingers.  
_I do know. And I also know a horse named Hawk wouldn't be given a fair trial in a court of law._  
If Dean didn't respond to this blatant cowboy movie reference, they were going to have a problem. Dean had proven you don't ask Dad to dress up like a cowboy for Halloween five years in a row without having serious hero worship for John Wayne.

A minute later Sam's phone went off. 

_Horses name was duke bad guy was the hawk & dont lie U would lawyer a horse on trial 4 murder_

Sam exhaled in relief. Lack of punctuation and all told him he was still talking to Dean, and Dean correcting him told him he was fine. But it didn’t make Dean's first text any less out of left field. 

Knowing he wouldn't figure it out what was wrong by standing in the grocery store, Sam skipped the leisure stroll through the aisles and quickly collected the rest of items on the shopping list. 

When Dean came to the garage to help bring everything in, Sam handed him a silver knife before he let him touch the groceries. Just to be sure. If Dean wasn't aware how concerned Sam was about his behavior, being handed a silver knife, blade first, should have been a pretty good indication. 

"What?" Dean asked taking the knife from Sam's hand without hesitation. He thumbed the sharp edge before running it over the hair on his forearm. "It's sharp as hell, why are you handing me this?"

"Just checking," Sam answered as he took the knife back. Satisfied with the lack of reaction to touching the metal, he opened the trunk of groceries. Dean gathered up the lion's share of the bags and started towards the kitchen.

Sam grabbed the last few bags and wondered if he should have grabbed some flu medicine because Dean had to be sick. 

It was the only explanation for his weird behavior.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

Standing in the post office, Dean leafed through the mail for the second time with a frown, how long did it take for a couple books to come through the mail?

He had been anticipating a “ **too large for mailbox** ” notice for a week now. 

Quickly sorting the spam from their hunter network letters, Dean brought the stack to the office window. 

As always, the blue-haired postmaster, Linda, greeted him with a friendly smile and asked how Sam was doing. 

Apparently, Linda thought "brother" was code for their secret relationship. He was sure it was something Sam had said one time or another because Linda still greeted Dean like they were sharing a secret when she asked how Sam was doing. 

It was nice to have someone who thought Sam and him were together. Lending a little bit of acceptance (however misguided) to the fact he did like his brother _that way_

The older they got, the more confusion lingered on people's faces when they introduced themselves as brothers. Okay yeah, they were two men in their 30s, but Dean didn't think it was as weird as everyone made it out to be. 

After he’d answered all of Linda’s innuendo-laden questions as vague as possible, he asked, “Did I have a package come in a few days ago?” 

She gave him a sly grin, “Yes, Sam did take a package about a week ago. He didn’t seem to know what it was, so I take it you bought him a little something?”

Dean wondered, not for the first time, if Linda had ever opened some of the mail to satisfy her nosy nature. 

“I did,” Dean answered, “but if he’s opened it, he hasn’t mentioned it to me.” 

“Aw dear,” Linda cooed, “I’m sure he’s going to love what you got him.”

Dean flashed her a smile, “Hope so.”

\- -

"Linda said you picked up a package?" Dean said in lieu of greeting. 

Sam was cozied up in the library, a book in his lap with his feet up on the chair next to him. Without taking his eyes off the pages Sam answered, "It's in the trunk."

"Why is it in the trunk?" Came Dean's sharp question. 

Sam lifted his head to regard Dean with his full attention. "I thought we were going to make lead rounds next week?"

"We are. That doesn't explain why it's in the trunk." Dean continued. 

"Because it was heavy." Sam defended.

"And?"

"Heavy like _metal_ heavy." Sam elaborated as if that explained it all, and in their own way, it did, "I assumed it was weapon related. Knew you'd find it if I left it in the trunk."

"It's not-" Dean cut himself off with a sharp exhale, "It still there?" 

With Sam's, "Should be, yeah." Dean turned and disappeared down the hall. 

Sam returned to his book with a head shake; how Dean could still get so worked up about ammo was beyond him. 

 

 

"Okay." Dean announced dropping the heavy package onto the table top with a loud bang that didn't even make Sam's eyelids flutter, "Open this and tell me what we can drop with it."

Sam eyed the box before giving a resigned sigh and placing his bookmark against the book spine. He stood and Dean silently offered him a pocket knife.

Taking it with pursed lips, Sam flipped the blade out and slid it through the tape, "It's ammo, not-"  
The words died on Sam's tongue as the cardboard flap opened. 

Staring back at him was a stylized book cover of a knight framed by the setting sun and waxing moon. 

This book series was recently completed, the author stating this Spring release would be the final installation of this collection.

Sam usually waited about a year until the book went on sale at a second-hand bookstore, in an attempt to keep the cost of his love of books manageable with their stolen credit card budget. But as Sam carefully reached into the box and pulled out the first book he realized all seven hardcover books were in there.

Dean had got him the collector's edition of the series.

"Do you like them?" Dean asked, drawing Sam out of his daze. Sam cradled the first book in his hand, struggling to find words to express the joy at knowing these were _his_. Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, "I can exchange them if-"

"No!" Sam rushed to assure him, subconsciously holding the book to his chest. "No, I- I'm grateful. Dean this is-" Sam looked back down at the box and then to the silhouette of the knight on the cover. 

He wrapped Dean in a hug before his brother could protest. Sam felt the tension in Dean's shoulders ease as his arms came up to return the hug. 

Not wanting to push his luck, Sam released him long before he was ready. He dropped his gaze back to the book with an excited smile, "This is amazing, thank you." 

Dean grinned back at him, "Good."

Carefully placing the book back in the box, Sam ran a finger across the cover, gathering his resolve before turning to look at Dean. "Does this mean you're going to tell me what's going on with you?"

As close as they were standing together, Dean couldn't hide the look of guilt that flashed across his face. Sam narrowed his eyes, Dean _was_ hiding something.

"Dean." Sam insisted, gripping the back of the chair to prevent himself from strangling his brother, "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on." 

"Nothing is going on. I just-" Dean cut himself off and clenched his jaw briefly. Instead of the lie Sam knew he was about to spew, his tone changed and Sam knew this was the truth. "I felt you deserved something nice." He made a hapless gesture, "Something you like."

"Something Sam liked" tended to be synonyms for "because I broke the other one" or "it was on sale" or "we can use it on a hunt". Looking back down to the books Sam tried to find the meaning behind this gift.

Dean gave an impatient huff, "And now you're over thinking it." he chastised. 

"I'm not over thinking it." Sam argued, "I just want to know why you've been acting so weird for the past few weeks." Dean's poker face was firmly in place, giving nothing away. 

Determined, Sam leaned his hip against the table and started thinking aloud. "A couple of weeks ago you looked up something that made you clear the browser history and save a link about ways to increase intimacy-" Dean's eyes went wide as Sam continued, "-and ever since then you've been…." Sam hesitated as the suggestions of the site came flooding back to him, "...doing all the tips."

\- - -

Dean watched Sam's mouth fall open in surprise as the gravity of what he’d said sunk in. That Dean had been doing things _for him_. 

The longer Sam silently watched him; the more uncertainty started to take root in Dean's chest. 

Sam made to start a sentence, twice, before looking back to the books sitting in the box, still struggling to find words. 

Swallowing down the regret that he had created another hurdle for them to get over, Dean tore his eyes away from Sam and dropped them to the tabletop. He should have known to leave well enough alone. If this irreversibly changed anything between them he would never forgive himself. 

With a sigh, Dean pursed his lips and wrapped his knuckles on the table twice before shooting Sam what he hoped didn't look as much like a forced smile as it felt, before he turned to walk away. He was already finalizing his escape plan to go hole up somewhere with a bottle of rotgut until he shoved his feelings back into the darkest corner of his mind where they belonged. How could he have been so _stupid_ , Sam didn’t- he would never-

"Dean, wait!" Sam demanded, a chair screeching as it was shoved out of the way for Sam to grab at Dean's forearm. 

Dean closed his eyes as Sam held his arm in a loose grip. It would be so easy to tug out of it. Just one more step forward and Sam's hand would fall away. But Dean couldn't bring himself to do it. 

"Does," Sam started before clearing this throat and trying again, his voice just shy of a whisper. "What does this mean?"

Dean turned so he could see Sam from the corner of his eye, but he focused on Sam's large fingers wrapped around his arm. The explanation was sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. He wasn't going to dig himself a deeper hole. But he wanted this. Wanted Sam. "Wasn't sure how to ask." Dean admitted. 

Sam's fingers on his arm tightened before he gave a light tug, urging Dean to look at him. "Just _ask_ me."

Dean blinked up at him. There was an easy smile on Sam's lips, his hazel eyes warm in that inviting way Dean had become addicted to ages ago. It was the same look in his eye that Dean strove to put there long before he came to understand the depths of what it meant. 

The flick of Sam’s tongue wetting his lower lip caught Dean’s eye and spurred him into action. He turned his wrist over and grabbed for Sam’s arm, pulling him forward so he could press their lips together. Sam’s grip on his arm tightened, as if to prevent him from pulling away. Dean answered by bringing his other hand up to cup at Sam’s jaw, his thumb rubbing back and forth under Sam’s ear telling him he was right where he wanted to be. 

Sam’s lips parted and Dean leaned in, slotting them closer together as he poured years’ worth of pent up desire into the kiss. 

Lost in the taste of Sam’s lips, Dean had unconsciously maneuvered Sam into the table. Abruptly sitting on the table’s edge, Sam blinked up at Dean but instead of allowing him to apologize, Sam clutched Dean’s jacket and pressed their lips together, directing him to stand in the space between his legs. 

So consumed in the euphoria of his fortified walls being obliterated by the sweep of Sam’s tongue, Dean didn’t register how hard he was until Sam groaned into the kiss and rolled their hips together. He could feel the hard line of Sam’s dick against his pelvis through two layers of denim, his own erection pressing earnestly against Sam’s thigh. Trapping Sam more firmly against the table, Dean rocked his hips forward, grinding them together.

He sunk his fingers into Sam’s soft hair, for both the pleased sigh it drew from Sam and to hold him where he wanted as he moved to mouth at Sam’s jaw. The stubble Sam had been allowing himself to grow was rough against Dean’s kissed tender lips, shooting lust through Dean’s body and settled hot between his legs. Sam dropped his head back with a groan when Dean settled his teeth against his neck, sucking at the pulse point. 

This was the beginning of everything Dean had wanted. To be able to worship every inch of Sam’s skin with his mouth. To catalog every sound so he could learn to have Sam make them on cue. “Should relocate to a bedroom.” Dean panted, moving away to take in Sam’s flushed face. His eyes were bright and his lips were a dark pink and kiss swollen. Dean ran a thumb over Sam’s lower lip, marveling that he was the reason Sam looked so disheveled. 

Sam immediately flicked his tongue over the pad of Dean’s finger, petting a hand down Dean’s chest until it hooked over the button of his jeans. His big puppy dog eyes blinked up at Dean, “What’s wrong with right here?”

Unable to suppress his groan at the obvious desire in Sam’s voice, Dean pulled him back into a wet kiss. If Sam didn’t want to move, Dean was willing to work with that. He grabbed at Sam’s belt and jerked him forward, slotting his thigh between Sam’s legs before working the leather open.

“I don’t catch.” Sam breathlessly informed him as he shamelessly rut against Dean’s thigh. His fingers ripping the flannel from Dean’s shoulders and tugging his shirt up to his armpits. 

“Me either.” Dean answered, followed by another toe curling kiss. Through the haze he managed to pull Sam’s belt off and pop the button of his jeans. Making enough space to shove his hand down the front of Sam’s pants and wrap a hand around his leaking cock.

Sam bucked into his hand, smearing precome across the inside of Dean’s wrist. “Sammy,” Dean groaned as he kissed at Sam’s jaw, “you’re wet like a chick.” 

The accusation made Sam choke on a moan and tear at Dean’s pants with more determination. Not wanting Sam to get a hand on Dean’s dick just yet – it would be over far too soon if Sam were to touch him now, as keyed up as he was- Dean was going to be able to put to use the knowledge he’d been able to glean with living to close to Sam for all these years. 

Sam’s quick fingers got as far as popping the button of Dean’s jeans before Dean started relentlessly thumbing the precome against the underside of Sam’s cockhead. 

“God, Dean!” Sam clamped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, followed by a bit off curse with each mercilessly firm slide of Dean’s thumb. More slick liquid dripped from his slit onto Dean’s fingers at each uncontrolled flex of Sam’s trapped dick. 

Pressing their foreheads together, Dean couldn’t help but tease him a bit more. “This fat dick of yours is all for show.” Dean whispered running his thumbnail over the slit and earning a full body shutter from Sam. He lowering his voice to confide, “I used to pretend to be asleep.” 

Sam pulled back to focus his half-lidded gaze on Dean’s face. His pupils were lust blown, his chest heaving as he panted through Dean’s relentless teasing. God, the love he had for this kid... 

Refocusing, Dean growled, “When you’d get yourself hard,” he demonstrated with a twist of his wrist. Cupping the head of Sam’s dick and slicking his precome down his length before returning to the head, “then you’d tease at the tip,” His thumb trailed back and forth under the flare of Sam’s cock head ‘causing Sam to whimper and clench his eyes shut, holding Dean close with the grip on his shoulder. Dean dropped a kiss to Sam’s temple before breathing across his ear, “over and over and over-” driving each word home with a precise flick over Sam’s dick, “-until you shot all over your chest.” Sam whimpered and grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him down into a harsh kiss. His teeth sinking into Dean’s lower lip before releasing him with an apologetic sweet of his tongue. 

They kissed until the torment of his dick proved to be too much for Sam and he pulled away from their kiss with a whine. 

Ducking his head to kiss the corner of Sam’s mouth, Dean praised with a whisper, “You’ve always made the hottest noises. When I’d pretend to sleep, I had to lay on my stomach so you couldn’t see how hard it made me.” 

“I- fuck Dean,” Sam’s grip on Dean’s neck flexed before he gave another whimper and bucked against Dean’s hand. “I knew.” 

Dean stared down at him, his hand faltering a beat allowing Sam to continue, “Did it because I knew you were watching.” His hazel eyes were unfocused as he blinked up at Dean. His lips spit shiny and temping framed by the flushed arousal of his cheeks. Dean felt heat pool in his belly. Even all that time ago Sam had felt this way. Had wanted this. 

The admission caused love and affection to well inside Dean’s chest, effectively snapping the thin hold he had on his control. He tugged the jeans off Sam’s hips and down his legs before tackling his own jeans, the fabric pooling around his feet. They’d been wasting years because of Dean’s doubts. 

As always, Sam seemed to hear his unspoken torment. “We’re here now.” He whispered before capturing Dean’s lips in a desperate kiss. 

An unchecked moan left him at the words and the desperation kicked up a notch. He dropped an arm down to palm Sam’s ass and pull him closer. The wet press of Sam’s dick against the underside of Dean’s cock had him bucking their hips together. Rutting against Sam’s pelvis just to feel the slide of Sam’s dick alongside his. Knowing this was _Sam_ -the slick length pressing kissing precome into his stomach was _his Sammy_ \- made his breath catch and his heart do an excited flip. 

Sam was two steps ahead of him, always the tactile one when it came down to it. He gave a low hum of warning into their kiss then was wrapping his long fingers around both their erections. With nothing but Sam’s precome between them, Dean groaned and drove his hips hard against Sam’s. Determined not to let Sam outlast him, Dean raked a hand up Sam’s back to tangle in hair, giving it a firm tug that had Sam groaning into the kiss. 

The sudden bite of fingers around Dean’s right nipple had an embarrassing moan fall from his lips as his dick twitching hard in Sam’s grip. Sam answered by scraping a fingernail over the hard nub, nuzzling his cheek against Dean’s, “I pretended to be asleep too.” 

Dean had only a moment to understand what he meant before Sam pinched his nipple. A needy groan was ripped from Dean’s throat as Sam expertly rolled it between his fingers in a way that shot lust straight to his balls. The steady grind of their dicks sliding together and the familiar way Sam played with his nipple sent a rush of _yesfuckyes_ through him. It spoke volumes of how many times Sam had watched Dean get himself off.

“I didn’t want you to see my hand move so I would only play with the tip while I watched you.” Sam whispered. The flex of his grip holding them pressed together was a silent command for Dean to keep thrusting his hips while Sam stroked them both. “Watched you pinch at your nipples while you stroked your dick.” Sam nipped at Dean’s lip before continuing, “How you’d always try to stay quiet by biting your lower lip when you got close.” 

Dean groaned and did just that. He wasn’t going to last much longer if Sam kept going with this highlight reel. 

Sam’s breath hitched and was quickly followed by the demanding sweep of his tongue that freed Dean’s lower lip from his teeth. “Want to hear you this time Dean.” Sam whispered working their dicks faster. 

His plea, combined with the feel of their dicks sliding together in Sam’s big hand, forced a strangled groan from Dean’s throat as the warm throb low in his stomach erupted. His release spilled between them, slicking Sam’s hand and their stomachs with decades of suppressed yearning. 

With a similar desperate groan, Sam started working their combined cocks faster, dragging another involuntary sound from Dean’s mouth. Dean set his teeth against Sam’s collarbone to hold off his embarrassing breathless gasps as he thrust into Sam’s hand, pushing through the post-orgasm sensitivity of his dick to get Sam to come. 

When Sam tensed against him, lost in the beginning of his own orgasm, Dean brought his hand up to wrap around them, continuing the brutal pace. Using his own come as lube to coax every drop he could from Sam’s pulsing dick. 

The warm spunk splashed over Dean’s cock, causing him to gasp as his dick jerked and gave a valent effort to stay hard. 

Dean mouthed at Sam’s collarbone, riding the prolonged tremors that raced his body as Sam’s warm breath panted across his ear. Their thrusting had slowed to leisurely rocking against each other, their dicks held together in their combined grip. 

Eventually, Sam’s grip went lax and Dean tangled their fingers together, moving them away so he could slot them together, chest to hip. Sam gasped a breath as the move trapped their softening dicks against the other’s stomach. The too rough drag of Sam’s pubic hair along the shaft of his dick had Dean humming against the sweat-slick skin of Sam’s collarbone.

“Should have done this years ago.” Sam slurred. 

“Didn’t know I could have this years ago,” Dean answered, surprising himself with his honesty.

“That’s because you don’t know how to communicate.” Sam teased, soothing the words as he pet down Dean’s naked side. 

Dean rocked his hips against Sam’s, earning another pleased sigh from Sam, “I know how to communicate.” He defended. Allowing himself a moment to bask in the feel of Sam’s warm skin against his before conceding, “It just takes me a while to figure out what language to use.” 

Sam huffed a laugh, “Well, walking right up and planting one on me would have helped with the translation.” 

Silence followed the statement. 

Dean didn’t quite know how to explain he’d vetoed that idea first thing. “It just,” he looked down at the hand they still had interlaced, the drying come tacky between their fingers. “It felt a bit too forward.” 

Sam’s other hand made random patterns on the skin of Dean’s lower back. A distraction from his soft whisper of, “I’ve wanted you since we were kids.” 

Dean sucked in another deep breath, the smell of their combined skin felt like coming home. “You have me now.”

Those long octopus’s arms of Sam’s came up to wrap him in a hug, “I’ve always had you.” Dean’s breath hitched at that, but Sam continued, “It just took you a little longer to figure it out.”

They stood there, pressed together and come tacky in the library for a long time. Eventually the endorphins leveled out and Dean pulled back to look Sam in the eye, unable to suppress the urge to rib him. 

“How did I not know you were jerking off to me?” 

Sam shook his head in disbelief, “No idea. With the whole lip thing, I figured you thought I was mocking you.”

Dean frowned, he felt like he was missing context with that one. “What lip thing?”

“You know.” Sam hedged. At Dean’s silence, Sam huffed a sigh, “Because you’d always bite your lip when you came I started licking my lips every time I looked at you because I was picturing it.” He demonstrated by flicking his pink tongue over his lower lip in a move Dean had seen him do a million times since they were teenagers. 

“Son of a bitch Sammy.” Dean exhaled as he pulled Sam into a filthy kiss. 

The table was proving it wasn’t comfortable for extended sexcapades, but Dean didn’t have plans of stopping anytime soon. 

As usual, they were on the same page. 

“Come on,” Sam stood from the table and pulled Dean along by their still laced, come soiled hands, “We have years to make up for and I want to see if you’ll allow some leniency in cashing in that back rub.”

**Author's Note:**

> 12/5/2018 Update:   
> After a re-read, I've decided this story needs a beta. Anyone interested?  
> I am willing to compensate in the form of ficlet/fic/word count of your choice. My profile contains my contact details.


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